


I should've turned around

by angelsfallingdeancatch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: About how good communication is for not having these problems, F/M, I want to sit them down and have a talk, Post 5B, Sorry Not Sorry, Talk it out, especially stiles, it's 4 am, these two idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsfallingdeancatch/pseuds/angelsfallingdeancatch
Summary: Right after the scene with Braeden knocking the Desert Wolf out. Post breakup angst and then resolution. Maybe they wouldn't be forever, but they could be happy now. It would be good.





	

Her mother lay on the blood-soaked floor. 

Was it over?

She caught Braeden’s eye; she nodded with determination and smiled at her. Malia frowned and nodded back. 

The bullet holes seeped more blood onto the floor as they tried to heal.

“We need to get you both to Deaton,” Braeden said, pointing at Stiles and the huge piece of glass protruding from his chest.

Stiles didn’t answer her; he just grimaced as she helped him up and hobbled to the car. 

Malia felt her eyes flood blue as she strained to make it to the car alone. She was strong, she was more than capable enough to make a little more. 

She collapsed into the driver’s seat. Stiles was in the passenger seat and was even paler than usual and blanched like the shock was making him sick.

“You’d think I’d be used to it by now,” he cracked, glancing at her wounds and wincing.

Malia didn’t answer, just willing the bullet holes closed.

He cleared his throat and coughed before holding his chest and moaning. Malia grabbed his shoulder and pulled his back against the seat. He gaped at her, eyes floating to where she touched him, then to her face.

“Bending over will just make you lose more blood faster,” she guessed, releasing her hold on him and putting the car into gear. Braeden tapped the top of the car as she peeled out, too fast and shaky, but good enough.

“Who taught you how to drive?” Stiles said, half-question and half-joke. 

Malia said, “my friends,” without much thought. Stiles lurched away to stare out the window, arms cradling under the glass.

Malia didn’t know what game they were playing. She didn’t understand why they had broken up, or really if they had. Stiles hadn’t spoken to her for a while. Malia knew when she wasn’t wanted, but she wanted. She cared. 

She did know two things. The first was that she had beaten her mother and had protected Stiles. That was her job, self-imposed or not. He had gotten hurt but he survived. They had survived.

The second was when Scott had pulled her aside and whispered, “how he treated us isn’t okay.” Malia had stared at him and then blinked. He had continued, “he’s my best friend, and I’m forgiving him, but that doesn’t mean it was right.”

Stiles croaked out, “am I not your friend?” his eyes still taking in the window. 

Malia hummed, eyes on the road, though she wished she could pull over and scream at him. 

“Should you be?” she countered, clenching the wheel.

Stiles stiffened before letting his shoulders fall. “No,” he stated, fists just as white as hers. 

There was so much self-doubt, and if her intuition was correct, self-hatred in his voice. A sliver in her chest wiggled free and her frown deepened. Stiles made her happy, usually. She wanted him to have all the good things she could give him, even when she was angry with him. 

“I forgive you,” she whispered. Malia could feel Stiles’ eyes boring into the side of her face.

“What.” he demanded. She didn’t need to look at him to know that he was fuming. 

She slowing uncurled her fingers from the steering wheel and took a deep breath. 

“I want to talk about this,” she reasoned, “but we need to get fixed up first.”

Stiles was silent the whole way to Deaton’s.  
~~~  
They didn’t talk about it until a week later. 

She realized that Stiles wasn’t sure how to handle it. She knew that because she wasn’t sure either, but she knew that she wanted, maybe needed, to talk with him. To find a solution or at least some sort of resolution. 

She didn’t want a resolution. 

Malia, for maybe the first time, knocked on the Stilinski’s front door. Stiles answered and jumped back in surprise, mouth open.

“Hi?” she tried, smiling briefly. 

“Hi,” he answered, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly before stepping aside to let her in. 

Malia felt like a stranger in a place she had felt most at home. She felt even more alienated from the person who had been home for her. It was all coming at her at once, too much sadness and loss. She began to shake, and Stiles grabbed her hand and tried to duck his head so their eyes would meet.

“Hey, hey,” he cooed, and her chest fractured. Tears welled up and she became embarrassed, hating this show of weakness but liking the freeing feeling she was experiencing because of it. 

Stiles hesitated, likely unsure of how to handle his ex-girlfriend crying, but he recovered and tugged her into a hug. 

“I fucked up,” he whispered into her hair. She nodded, clutching onto his plaid shirt, one that she had worn many times, and knew. This was the real thing. He, he was who she wanted, who she cared for, who had helped her, stood by her, and then ultimately hurt her. 

All this was so foreign and the feelings were alien, but she welcomed them. Kira had taught her that much. Growth was important and special. Figuring out feelings was healthy, at least according to Scott.

She staggered her breath and pulled away to gaze into his face. She placed a hand on his cheek, and his expression became awed. 

“I want you,” she stated, looking him in the eye. He searched her face for a moment before cupping her face in his big hands. 

“Not, like, a sex thing, I mean sex is great, but…” she stammered and Stiles chuckled, circling his thumb against her cheek. 

“I want you, too,” he said, licking his lips and glancing at hers, “can I, uh, kiss—?” 

Malia crashed herself into him. Two oceans colliding. Two trees, intertwined, growing together.


End file.
